Of Mirth And Folly
by Slacker Mentality
Summary: On the eve of the Fellowship's formation, the restlessness of its participants result in lunacy audiences weren't privvy to. Legolas sabotages Aragorn's romance, stoned Hobbits Merry & Pippin go wild, and Gollum is involved in many a mishap.
1. Prologue: Mischief In Rivendell

**_Of Mirth And Folly_**.

**Prologue: **_Mischief In Rivendell._

Frodo lay with his stout arms rested behind his head, the thick undergrowth of his dark curls cushioning any discomfort the reclining position may have offered. His piercing, inquisitive blue eyes gazed tentatively through the archway beside him, and up at the full moon as it hung ominously in the glimmering multitude above. The Mithril his Uncle Bilbo had offered him less than an hour ago was cold against his torso, but the sensation was in synch with the crisp chill of the evening, and the young Hobbit's mind was far too troubled to dwell upon such irksome whimsy. 

So he lay there, gently revisiting the day's events. Of his healing. Of the Council meeting. Of the Fellowship. Of the Ring. How he hated the One Ring, the source of all his worry and woe. Anything that attracted those monstrous Wraiths was evil in Frodo's opinion. Anything that could prompt his genial and pleasant Uncle to lash out in such a frightening manner deserved to be destroyed. And, unfortunately, he was just the Hobbit to accomplish this.

Subconsciously, he ran his thoroughly clipped, stubbly fingers along the smooth surface of his armour. Over the wound those ghastly cloaked figures had inflicted upon him, and along the V of his neckline, to the chain where the insidious object in question hung. 

The Ring, however, was absent.

Frodo shot up with a start, his eyes darting frantically about the dimly lit chamber, his lips whispering silent prayers of desperation. Upon identifying two familiar figures, however, his tension was eased and he let a careful sigh pass through his teeth. Moody Dwarf Lord Gimli and Elven Noble Elrond sat adjacent to one another at the far corner of the room, and Frodo's memory was restored. He had lent the Ring to Gimli after the gruff bearded one asserted his confidence in destroying it by hand.

_"I don't give an Orc's rrrear end if my axe couldn't kill it," _the Dwarf had retorted, _"I'm going to prrrrove to you people that a quest to Mordor is completely unnecessary!"_

That had been an hour ago. As it was, he was currently wrestling with a large pair of pliers, in another feeble attempt at its destruction. His knuckles, wrought with thin orange hair, had whitened; and his eyes were wild with fury as he struggled to snap Sauron's wicked forgery. With a frustrated exhalation, he released his clamp on the handles, and the Ring fell to the cold marble floor without bouncing.

"Does anyone have a hacksaw?!" he demanded in his rolling, rich Scotsman accent.

"Oh, for the _gods'_ sake, Gimli son of Gloin," hissed Elrond, massaging his ample brow in irritation, "What part of _'No mortal weapon' _do you not understand?"

Gimli frowned and met Elrond's annoyed gaze for a short moment.

"D'you know what we need?" the Dwarf began slowly, "A power drrrill."

Surrendering, Elrond threw his hands in the air and rose from his seat, approaching the balcony beside Frodo's bed and gazing over his city below. Rivendell was beautiful at any hour, but tonight, shrouded in a low, thin mist, it was exceptionally beautiful. The silver blanket that instilled the lawns and shrubbery with dew cascaded silently along the steps and pedestals of numerous archways, palaces and patios, each crafted with the grace and elegance exclusive to the Elves. Droplets of thick evening moisture ran rivulets down the hanging vines of the valley; and under the luminance of the blue moon above, Rivendell was, quite literally, a heavenly scene.

However, Elrond was always displeased when his people were in the company of men. _Weak fools_, he thought to himself. Why, just now, the dignitary Boromir had emerged from the main hall, requesting a band-aid for his bleeding finger. The Elf handmaid he had requested this of nodded obediently, but fought a gloat at his expense as she darted into the shadows. 

Elrond snorted in contempt. Not long afterwards, his exquisite daughter Arwen emerged from the same archway, on the arm of the rogue Ranger Aragorn. 

"_Hey!_" bellowed Elrond from the balcony, "_I want her back before midnight, understand?"_

Arwen shot him a fierce double take, as her beloved nodded meekly. The two disappeared into the gardens. _No doubt off to that accursed bridge_, he mused ruefully._ The sooner the Fellowship departs for Mordor, the sooner I can bring that frivolous vixen's head out of the clouds and have her betrothed to a decent Elven gentleman. _

"May I have it back, please?" Elrond heard the soft, level voice of his Hobbit guest.

"Not just yet, young Hobbit," grunted Gimli. "I'm going to trrry and stomp on it for a wee while."

"Save your breath, Son of Gloin," Elrond commanded without turning around, "The Ring is young master Baggins' responsibility now. Return it to him."

Gimli seemed reluctant to part with it. He glowered over the small golden circle, his left eye twitching with a desire he had, by no means, mustered within himself. Adept at identifying the Ring's influence on others, Frodo swiftly rose from his bed and snatched it away from the Dwarf's hungry gaze. Gimli recoiled in a brief rage, before his primeval desire for power was thankfully subdued.

"You should retire to your chamber," Elrond recommended.

"Ach," Gimli jeered, "I may have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox, but I'm as rrrestless as a caffeine-addled goblin! What do Elves do for entertainment, Elrond?"

"Meditate on the troubles of the world," replied the healer, flatly.

"Sounds like a jolly gay time," snickered Gimli sarcastically, "But don't you have any rrrrrrecreational activities?"

Elrond shuddered. He loathed it when the Dwarves rolled their 'r's like that. 

"Very well," he acquiesced, "If it is to your liking, I will escort you to the eastern gardens for a round of croquet. I believe Gandalf and Bilbo are already there."

"Aha!" Gimli grinned, rising with some effort from his seat, "Now that's more like it! Lead the way, Elrond!"

"And what of you, Frodo?" Elrond enquired. "Would you care to join us?"

"If you ask it of me," replied the Hobbit in his feathery tone, "I will join you."

"You may follow on your own accord," assured the Elf, "It is for you to decide."

"Then I will stay," concluded Frodo, "For I need my rest."

"Very well. Come, Gimli son of Gloin."

Frodo fell against the welcoming recesses of the silken undergrowth, the sound of distant waterfalls and the crisp floral aroma of Rivendell nights soothing his troubled mind. At daybreak he would embark upon the greatest adventure known to Middle Earth, but for now his naïve life perspective was enamoured with the sheer serenity of his surroundings. The rich sense of tradition, the beauty, and above all, the security.

Security, however, was but a false pretence. For nestled snugly in the eaves of his spacious chamber, a figure sat hunched and alert, its breath ragged with excitement, its eyes shining in the radiant hue of the sky. Those catlike saucers were fixated on but one small thing.

Its precious.

~(*)~

****

**_End Prologue_**.


	2. Chapter One: Forbidden Love, Forbidden W...

**_Of Mirth And Folly_**.

**Chapter One:** _Forbidden Love, Forbidden Weed._

Legolas, acclaimed archer and Prince of Mirkwood, briefly entertained the thought of skewering Gondor's successor with a well-aimed arrow to the neck. _The Fellowship of Eight_, he mused to himself with disdain. _Has a rather charming ring to it. Heh, ring. How I wish someone were around to hear that. _Of course, he would not let any individual infringe upon his secret dislike for Aragorn, for it would be a direct reference to his secret desire for Elf Maiden Arwen, the most beautiful creature known to Middle Earth. 

He rested atop a thick marble banister, and against an impeccably chiselled column, his left leg swaying lazily beneath as he plucked distractedly at his bowstring. The chamber selected specifically for him was suspended above the streams of the southern garden, and, unfortunately for him, the lovers had selected this enchanting place for a romantic rendezvous. 

Shadows of leaves danced about his fair and handsome face as he gazed longingly at the couple below. Aragorn had his back to the blonde Elf as he embraced the woman, and the archer's pulse quickened with grief and rage at the sight. He could not hear their exchange of dialogue, but could sense the profoundness of Arwen's words simply by the way her full, crimson lips undulated with slow eloquence. She was captivated in her beloved's gaze, and it pained him to see her slender, radiant hands glide softly over the coarse valleys of the Ranger's face. 

Legolas studied her in vain despair. The symmetry of her glowingly fair face was precise, and the consequential aura of beauty was devastating to any man who looked upon it. Her eyes embodied the deepest of knowledge and the lightest of innocence simultaneously. The raven curls of her hair cascaded below her slight and dainty shoulders, as they arced backwards to lengthen the shimmering, transparent gown from behind, and heighten its proximity around her perfectly sculpted, soft bosom. Legolas wretched in horror upon realising the pendant usually bejewelling her slender neck was absent. She had forfeited her immortality to a mere man whose track record was so jaded; it would throw her family's name into disrepair. His pain was not alleviated as he watched their lips crush against each other in a passionate kiss. 

His very essence in ruin, Legolas slid from his perch and jogged angrily through his sleeping quarters to the adjacent balcony that looked out over the valley of Rivendell. He fought a heaving sob that threatened to wrack his whole body, releasing the stored sorrow in a shallow, ragged breath.

"Uh, 'scuse me," came the insensitive, mischievous voice of a larrikin Hobbit, "But d'you know where me and my friend Pip here can find some pipe weed, perchance?" 

"I've not the heart to tell you," whispered Legolas, "For me the grief is still too near."

"Uh………huh," Merry finished, raising an eyebrow in confused concern. "You're sure, now? No idea where we can find a good patch of Old Toby? All this Dark Lord of Death business has given us a mighty cravin' for a puff, y'see………"

"I-I'm sorry?" Legolas suddenly interrupted upon restoring some semblance of consciousness.

"_We need some pipe weed!_" Pippin demanded impatiently. 

"Oh," the Elven archer replied, softly. "I'm afraid the Valley of Rivendell isn't subject to any such flora. All herbal remedies of the Elves are seldom used for smoking." 

"Well, bloody hell!" the Hobbit with the sharper nose huffed. "I get all testy when I have'na had a good puff, I do. And that Strider won't let us use any of the leftover Kingsfoil he used on Frodo, neither!"

"Oh, he won't, eh?" sneered Legolas, a wicked plan formulating in his mind. "And why not?"

"He said it does ker-ayzee things to the brain," replied Merry. 

"And what would a mere Ranger know of such things?" retorted the Elf.

"A mere Ranger?" echoed Pippin, frowning, "But at the Council meeting you said he was no mere Ranger- -"

"Forget I said that," Legolas interrupted. "I assure you, boys, Kingsfoil is completely harmless. Go and help yourselves to it immediately! Aragorn just wants it to himself!"

"Why, that selfish son-of-a-Proudfoot," Merry hissed, "I'm gonna smoke the whole bag, and douse the embers on the crotch of his trousers! Come on, Pip!"

The Hobbit companions darted away from Legolas as he stood chuckling to himself. _Yes, my stout-hearted Hobbits_, he mused to himself, _Puff away. Puff till you can no longer clasp the pipe between your lips. All's fair in love and war, Aragorn. And I am master of the latter. _

~(*)~

The warmth of her kiss was nauseating.

Aragorn, successor to the throne of Gondor, felt light-headed as he asserted his desire for his one true love. Their forearms were intertwined in an embrace that distanced their bodies slightly, and he rectified this hindrance with discretion, sliding his calloused hands along their full length to her shoulders, and sealing the gap by pulling her whole body to his as the intensity of the kiss deepened significantly. Unintentionally, small, pleasurable moans escaped her throat, and this served as extreme provocation for the now intoxicated warrior.  Though he was lost in the sheer surrealism of the moment, his level head encouraged him to change locations, as the thin bridge over the stream was far too precarious a position for the heated consummation of eternal love. Still adjoined at the face, he lowered himself to snake his arm beneath her firm buttocks and lift her off her feet. Eyes closed, he traversed the remaining length of the bridge and rested his beloved at the base of the large tree that masked their hiding place from intrusion. With capricious determination, he began to unfasten her gown.

~(*)~

"So, what d'you think?" enquired Pippin as he sucked tentatively at his pipe.

"S'not bad," replied Merry after a deeper inhalation. 

Pippin nodded as he stared vacantly at the floor.

"I mean, it's no Old Toby," his friend added, "But it's got a really refreshing fragrance, y'know? Subtle, yet bold and aromatic."

A giggle suddenly escaped Pippin's lips.

"Whass so funny?" snickered Merry, his speech slurring slightly.

"Eh?" chuckled Pippin, looking up. "Oh, a-hee hee! Not much. Just………well, y'know, journey to the bowels of Mordor, fate of the world, yadda yadda yadda………all seems a bit nutty, dunnit?"

"Hey, yeah………a-heh heh, I guess it kinda does! Hmmph-ha ha ha!"

"Wee hee hee!"

"Bwa-hoo-hoo-ha-ha-haaaa!"

The wisps of Kingsfoil smoke grew thicker as the incoherent sniggering of the companions grew increasingly raucous.

~(*)~

Arwen had attained nirvana. 

Under the dominant weight of her beloved Estel, the heat of her body could not have matched her desire for him, although it was certainly difficult to tell. She was on fire with primeval lust as he slid the delicate fabric of her gown away from her shoulders, exposing the naked flesh to the crispness of the evening and sending a pleasurable shudder down her spine, that remained as he planted feather light kisses against them soon afterwards. It was impossible to maintain any semblance of conscious thought as his hips began to gyrate against hers, and this made it difficult to prepare her body for the mother of all carnal experiences. 

Then, all of a sudden, her lover paused.

Now only her desperate breathing infringed upon the silence of the evening, and she quickly dulled the sound in frustrated impatience.

"Why did you stop, my love?" she breathed.

"Can you not smell that peculiar essence?" he whispered in reply.

"It is merely the aroma of my own heated arousal," she gasped dismissively as she grabbed at his neck, eager to continue.

"No," he insisted, "It smells like………Kingsfoil………"

"_WAAA-ZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP?!?"_

The jarring holler from above completely obliterated the atmosphere of unabashed passion between the lovers, and they turned to observe Merry and Pippin staggering about the balcony in a vain attempt at dancing the jig. 

"_WOO-ZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup……………?!?!"_

The Hobbits howled like sedated hyenas as they stumbled clumsily about. They fell against each other, tears of delight streaming unrestrained down their faces, and fought to catch their breath as they whooped in glee. 

"I told them to stay out of the Kingsfoil," seethed Aragorn through clenched teeth. 

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Arwen rolled her beloved onto his back and clambered to her feet, covering her naked breasts with her arms. Ashamed, she darted barefoot into the night as Aragorn drew his sword and stalked angrily to his hysterical prey. 

With solemn determination, he marched along the defined marble stairwell to the second floor of the southern hall, only to be greeted by the wizard Gandalf. The exceptionally tall conjurer stood stoic, holding the giggling Hobbits steadfast by the ears. He gazed down at the furious Ranger understandingly.

"Stoned Hobbits," sighed the wizard, "Is there a more pathetic visage? I sincerely apologise, Aragorn, I hope these two haven't spoilt your evening with the Evenstar."

Aragorn stared longingly over the railing, down to where he had stood with his love, captivated in her piercing gaze. 

"Think nothing of it, Gandalf," he replied, softly. "These things happen."

"Would you care to join us gentlemen in the eastern garden?" the wizened old man murmured as consolation, "We're about to begin a small game of croquet."

"No," sighed the Ranger. "I may just retire for the evening. We have quite an adventure ahead of us."

"That we do, my boy," he smiled. "I'll just escort these two to the dungeon below Elrond's chamber. Come along, you accursed stoners! By the Valar, you're lucky I got to you before he did!"

From his perch on the rooftop, Legolas grinned smugly as the Hobbits were dealt with, and Aragorn struck at a tree in frustration.

~(*)~

**_End Chapter One_**.


	3. Chapter Two: The Sorceror's Mallet

**_ _**

**_Of Mirth And Folly_**.

**Chapter Two: **_The Sorcerer's Mallet._

_ _

Samwise Gamgee pondered thoughtfully to himself as he sat atop a lonely garden bench. A curtain of hanging vines encircled the terrace in which he occupied, and he welcomed the subtle touch as the veil of solitude he had sought since first he had left the Shire. Beside him lay the green in which the Elves partook in croquet every so often. Gimli, Elrond, and an aged Bilbo Baggins waited impatiently for Gandalf to return from punishing the Hobbit stoners Merry and Pippin. 

The stout and timid Sam ran a podgy hand through his tangled locks and sighed. He had long dreamt of communing with the Elves in such an environment as this, and it made him……….sleepy. But not out of tediousness, no; out of inner calm. Rivendell was the embodiment of serenity, and he relished the rustic flavour of this magical town like no other Hobbit before him. Few of his friends and associates knew this about him, but he frequently dwelt upon his poetic aspirations. And in the tranquil isolation he experienced at that moment, Sam felt it necessary to compose a ballad right then and there………

# Thoughts On Rivendell.

## A Whimsical Medley by Samwise Gamgee.

_I like Rivendell, it's a right jolly hoot, _

_ _

_The food's fit fer munchin' and the wenches are cute._

_ _

_The moon is full and the grass is wet,_

_ _

_Mr. Frodo'll score with an Elf, I bet._

_ _

_Brandybuck and Took are as high as a kite,_

_ _

_They've been smokin' the reefer fer 'arf the night. _

_ _

_Though the Fellowship's journey is drawin' near,_

_ _

_I say "Screw the Ring, I'm stayin' here!"_

_ _

He set his feather pen to one side and waited for the ink to dry on the page, all the while marvelling at his own exceptional style as a poet. He would keep the writings to himself, however, as he felt such artistic leanings would be frowned upon by his peers. As he contemplated this, he heard Gandalf return from the main hall. The croquet match was about to begin, and the Hobbit lackey scurried to witness it.

~(*)~

"About bloody time, Gandalf!" huffed Gimli, impatiently.

"Well, excuse me for favouring the Fellowship's wellbeing over our little tournament, Master Dwarf," grunted the wizard, equally haughty.

"Now-now, gentlemen," sighed Elrond, "It's rather early for separatism, wouldn't you agree? Mr. Baggins, would you care to begin?"

"Oh!" the wilted Hobbit exclaimed, tiredly, "Very well." 

Dragging his sizeable croquet mallet behind him, Bilbo hobbled toward the small white sphere and lined his shot with unsteadiness. He tapped the ball, and it rolled a small distance, stopping short of the first arch. 

Gimli snickered.

"You next, Son of Gloin."

"Stand aside, emaciated Hobbit!" thundered the Dwarf, challengingly, "Now it's Gimli's turn to shine!"

His pronounced lower lip protruded humorously beyond the orange tangles of his unkempt beard as he raised an eyebrow and judged distance in accordance with power. The shot was commendable, passing through three consecutive arches following its removal of Bilbo's lone ball. 

The Dwarf gloated triumphantly to himself as he paraded to the end of the line. Gandalf exhibited disinterest as he strolled nonchalantly to his ball, swiped at it with his enchanted staff, and nodded approvingly as his ball passed through a majority of its targets. 

Gimli set his teeth on edge. There was something decidedly fishy about Gandalf's technique.

Finally, Lord Elrond stood in position and struck at his ball accordingly. It arced and undulated about the green, surpassing Bilbo and Gimli's with ease, before colliding with Gandalf's, a pronounced _clack _piercing the silence. 

"Hear that, Mister Anderson?" murmured Elrond, "That is the sound of inevitability."

"Beg pardon?" enquired Gandalf, confused.

"Hm? Oh………nothing………"

"If you ask me," growled Gimli, "I'd say you conjurers are cheating!"

~(*)~

"_Zeppelin rooooooooooooooooles!" _crowed Pippin in the darkness.

Both Hobbits, still utterly stoned, giggled contentedly for an extended period of time. 

"This be one poxy dungeon!" snorted Merry.

"Aye, can't see a bloody thing," agreed his companion. 

"Oh………oh, wait a pickle! I think I can see jus' a little bit of moonlight!"

"Eh? 'Ere, now! So can I! Meriadoc!"

"Peregrin! Let us escape this foul prison! Hee-hee!"

The stoners stumbled blindly about in the pitch blackness of Elrond's small dungeon, and only in their intoxicated state could they have formulated their plan of escape. Still whooping in hysterics, they balanced the solitary bedding atop a stool, and used the seesaw apparatus as one would a lever. Pippin propelled his comrade out of the opening, and Merry, riotous with glee at the sensation of flight, staggered back to open the door, effectively freeing his comrade. The two giggling lunatics darted into the shadows for a pint of havoc-wreaking. 

~(*)~

"Cheating?" huffed Gandalf, indignantly. "Take that back right _now_, dear Master Dwarf!"

"Oh, you jest?" demanded the angry warrior, "Well, then, I suppose you wouldn't mind taking a shot _without _your staff, hm?"

Gandalf appeared flustered.

"That's enough, Son of Gloin," groaned a weary Elrond.

"And you!" retorted Gimli, facing the one who spoke, "I suppose _you _think you can get away with using your black Elf magic in a rrrrrround of croquet?! _Never trust an Elf!!!_"

"Alright, that's enough," seethed the Elven healer. He cast his mallet aside and aligned himself in a challenging stance. "Right here, right now."

"Please, gents!" came the meek whimper of Bilbo Baggins from below, "You're obviously under the dire influence of my Ring! Wonderful………._wonderful _little thing that it is. How I wish………how I wish I could hold it once more………"

"Oh, _shut up, _Bilbo!" thundered Gandalf. "All of you! You're a mockery to your respective races! This match shall be postponed until the Fellowship's quest is finished, understand?" 

"Hm. Very well, Gandalf," mumbled Elrond, composing himself. "Let us retire to our chambers, irrespective of the restlessness we are currently experiencing." 

"Ach," spat Gimli as he disbanded with the taller gentlemen, "Cheating sorcerers………"

The three of them bade a begrudging farewell to one another, before retreating into the evening, leaving poor Bilbo Baggins standing wide-eyed and open-mouthed, completely petrified at Gandalf's outburst.

~(*)~

"'Ere, now," whispered Pippin through his incessant giggling, "Whar's the weed?"

"We could'nav smoked all of it," assured Merry as he snooped about the far corner of Aragorn's quarters, as the Ranger had thankfully decided to pursue his humiliated other half into the night.

Unbeknownst to the two, a tall and ominous shadow had fallen upon their moonlight-illuminated selves, and they turned with great alarm to face the intimidating visage of a man they vaguely recognised. The figure held a bloated pouch of the herbs they sought after, like an apple of utmost temptation he dangled it before their pleading eyes.

"Looking for this, boys?" he sneered in a rough, Shakespearian accent. 

_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _


	4. Chapter Three: Gondor's Hidden Treasure

**_Of Mirth And Folly_**.

****

**Chapter Three: **_Gondor's Hidden Treasure._

"_Wicked………tricksy Hobbitsessss………they're thieves………they're filthy………little………**thieves!**"_

Frodo bolted upright where he lay. In the light of the blue moon of Middle Earth, his wild, darting eyes surveyed his immediate surroundings. But there was nothing. His bedchamber was still and kempt. Beneath the south balcony, Elrond, Bilbo and the bearded brawlers were retiring for the evening; Sam was quiet and calm under the eaves of the marble bell; and potheads Merry and Pippin were, as far as Frodo knew, still in the custody of the great healer's dungeon. 

In the city of Rivendell, there was nothing to fear.

And yet, he couldn't shake his feeling of………unease. Of _malcontent_, as the sly and wicked Grima Wormtongue would be heard utter not long from now. Frodo shed the silken solace of the bedcovers and staggered to his furry feet, resting against the balcony railing as he took deep, heaving breaths, the weight of the One Ring noticeable beneath his collar.

Something else felt the presence of the Ring that evening. Not Gandalf, not Elrond, but _Gollum. _Gollum, hunched in the boughs of Frodo's room like the hideous loincloth-clad creature that it was. His glowing eyes widened with breathless expectancy as his spindly, grimy fingers clung to the marble of the eaves. 

_"Precious will be **ours **once more," _he reminded himself in a hoarse whisper, _"Yeesssss, by daybreak, Precious will be **ours………**"_

~(*)~

"Look, Merry!" cried Pippin, not at all concerned for the intimidating silhouette that stood before them, "This 'ere feller's got the weed!"

"Are you frightened?" hissed the shadowed man, menacingly.

"What?" retorted Merry, impatiently. "Who the bloody hell are you?" 

"I ask you, are you _frightened?_" the man repeated.

"Now, hang on a second," said Pippin, placing a hand on his hip. "Which answer will result in us getting a hold of that there pouch?"

"Oh, for the _sake of Osgiliath!_" bellowed the man, angrily.

He threw them the pouch of Kingsfoil, and they eagerly began to stuff the crushed plant into their pipes. The man stepped forth into the shaft of moonlight that streamed into Aragorn's chamber, revealing himself as Boromir, esteemed son of the Steward of Gondor. He crouched beside them and took a handful of the weed for himself.

"Long have I undermined the authority of those who needn't intrude," sneered Boromir as he lit up, "Gondor _needs no king_, young halflings. Let us smoke to our heart's content!"

~(*)~

Determined to be fully rested for the adventure before him, Frodo allowed the serenity of Rivendell to ease his mind, and, yawning, he clambered back into bed, dismissing any suspicion of another presence in the room as mere folly. Silence fell upon the city once more.

Silence broken by a hoarse, ragged breathing.

_"It came to me," _the creature Gollum reminded himself as he crawled down along the length of the broad column. "_It's mine………my own………my precioussss………"_

He slithered to the floor, and there he crouched, a limbed lump in the shadows of the night. Slowly, silently, he drew closer to the bed.

~(*)~

Boromir rolled around on the floor, splitting his sides as the two pipe-toting Hobbits did likewise, tears of hysteria rolling freely down their faces. The nobleman finally had the strength to sit up and continue the tale that, with the assistance of the stupefying drug, had them all in stitches.

"A-hand then," he continued, wiping a tear from his eye, "_Wa ha ha ha! _And then Romrinoth says, '_That's no Cave Troll………**that's my wife**!' Ha ha ha ha haaaaaa………!!!!_"

He let the pipe fall from his lips as he rolled onto his stomach and pounded at the floor with his fists, gasping for breath as he laughed uproariously. Merry and Pippin were howling like hyenas, kicking their stout legs furiously as they rocked back and forth in delight. All three took deep puffs of their pipes and began the routine over again.

"'Ere, now!" giggled Pippin, pointing to Boromir's belt. "What's that, then?"

Boromir sat upright and lazily followed Pippin's gaze to a protrusion near his sword's sheath. He grasped it and held it up for both to see.

"This," he began in a suddenly serious tone, "This is the _Horn of Gondor_. A distress signal and heirloom of my family. Its almighty blast can be heard for miles and miles. It may only be used in the direst of situations. Hee hee hee, why do you ask, little one?"

"I think I know," whispered Merry, excitedly.

He set his pipe aside and rolled onto all fours to examine the Horn properly. 

"This 'ere horn gives me an idea………"

~(*)~

"Arwen?" called Aragorn softly, as he brushed a thin curtain of vines aside.

There she sat, just as radiant and just as beautiful as she had always been, and would always continue to be. She sat atop a bench facing away from her beloved, distractedly caressing a flower bud with her slender fingers. Only a subtle twitch of her pointed ears suggested that she had acknowledged Aragorn's intrusion.

"Arwen," he repeated, his voice little more than a whisper, but still fuelled by a passion that sent shudders reverberating through her dainty frame. 

And as she trembled, the bud burst into full bloom. She turned to face him, unsure of herself, or of what to say. He sat beside her and let his eyes fall upon every detail of their surroundings. It was little more than a garden near the base of the great falls of Rivendell, a clearing with few traces of civilized interruption. Aside from the bench on which they sat and a weathered archway to guide the inquisitive traveller back to the safe confines of the city, they were isolated in an undisturbed haven. 

He let his worn knuckles glide tenderly down the silken swell of her cheek as his weary grey eyes stared deep into her vibrant blue ones. 

"Our time together shall be unspoilt," he insisted, his voice but a lofty breath.

"_Estel,_" she gasped, unable to contain herself any longer. 

She wrapped her arms around his broad neck and crushed her lips against his, the harsh and intimate breath of her nostrils masking any murmurs of reply her lover may have uttered. Within no time, the heat of the moment began to control their behaviour, and Aragorn lay the Elven beauty down along the length of the bench.

~(*)~

Four comical, clumsy and lecherous fingers grasped at the base of Frodo Baggins' bedframe. A smooth dome, deep aqua in the hue of the night, rose slowly from behind, long and thinning hair draped messily down either side. The harshness of Gollum's breathing had been intensified. It had been so long since he was this close to the object of his affection. It fought to hold its wheezing rhythmic gasping as it clambered silently over the covers. Three stealthy steps away, and he would be in possession of his _precious._

Even his vengeful nature was silenced by his desire for the One Ring. He would've settled on taking it and scurrying into the night without disturbing the slumber of the _thieving Hobbit _who wore it around his neck. If need be, however, Gollum was prepared to throttle Frodo for his crime. Two lengths away, now………so very, very close………

~(*)~

"Now, wait just a gosh-darned league, here," slurred Boromir, now completely wasted. "The Horn of Gondor is a priceless artefact of my people! What right do you, you miserable midget Shireling, have to………uh………what in the name of Theoden's haemorrhoids _are _you doing with it, anyway?"  

Merry fought involuntary giggles as he stuffed the Horn of Gondor with the choicest leaves of Kingsfoil. When he could wedge no more in the narrow space, he set the contents alight and thick, _thick _wisps of the intoxicating essence wafted slowly from it. Merry began to chant.

"Blow………blow……….blow………"

Pippin, though smashed, got in on the act, encouraging Boromir to smoke from his _priceless artefact._

_"Blow………blow………blow!!!"_

Psyching himself up, Boromir raised the heavy horn to be level with his face, and wrapped his whiskered lips around it.

~(*)~

Gollum's spindly fingers didn't even sustain grooves against the silk as he used his forearms to support his hunching frame. In his next breath, he knew, he would be able to wretch the Ring away from its chain and steal away into the safety of darkness, leaving behind this accursed city of purity and returning to his dank pit in the Misty Mountains. His hand trembled as it reached ever so slowly to the throat of Frodo Baggins.

~(*)~

Arwen let a sharp moan escape her pouting, crimson lips as the weight of her panting lover fuelled the intense heat that coursed through her veins. Her probing tongue wrenched his mouth wide open and began to explore every contour of it. Confident that there was no better time to proceed, Aragorn cupped her full breast in the palm of his groping hand. Nothing would stop them now.

~(*)~

"**_BLOW!!!_**" demanded both stoners in stern unison.

With all of his might, Boromir emitted an explosive exhalation into the instrument, resulting in the loudest resonating roar imaginable.

~(*)~

"_What the **fu-?!" **_screamed Frodo as the deafening trumpet roused him from his sleep. He shot upright and headbutted Gollum with so much force, the gangly creature was propelled to the adjacent end of the room. Frodo clutched his aching forehead from the impact and squinted to see through the haze his sight had adopted in the last five seconds. Gollum, however, had already scurried into the night, whimpering like a beast.

~(*)~

A startled cry also escaped Aragorn's throat, and he rolled off of the Elven beauty, landing on his rear end in the grass.

"_By the Valar!" _he cursed, stumbling to his feet. "That was the Horn of Gondor! Boromir is in trouble!"

Arwen lay dazed and confused on the bench, her body pining for sexual gratification like never before. Alas, the moment had been shattered once more, and she was left unfulfilled.

Aragorn drew his sword and hacked away the vines that hampered his vision of the happenings in the city. When the horn had ceased its blast, however, his fears were laid to rest as he heard the unanimous cry of '**_ALL HAIL THE BONG OF GONDOR!_**' from his bedchamber.

"The Bong of Gondor," he repeated, setting his teeth on edge as he sheathed his sword once more. "That does it!"

**_End Chapter Three_**.


	5. Epilogue: Alas, 'Tis Daybreak

**_Of Mirth And Folly_**.

**Epilogue: **_Alas, 'Tis Daybreak._

_ _

Bormir, son of Denethor, took a sharp intake of breath through the blowhole of the horn, the stupefying fume escaping through his nostrils, so thick was its essence.

"One last time!" crowed Pippin, taking a large swig of the _Pint _he had taken with him from Bree. "Blow that mother fu-"

**_HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!_**

**_ _**

Embers erupted from the mouth of the instrument like a volcano, illuminating Aragorn's chamber with a fiery brilliance. Merry and Pippin _ooooh_ed and _aaaahhh_ed over the spectacle, involuntary traces of drool trickling from their gaping mouths. When Boromir's threshold for pause of breath could be pushed no further, he let the smouldering horn fall to the floor as he did likewise, laughing in unparalleled glee, and uttering a snort every so often.

The merriment was ceased when a leathered hand gripped the bong and snatched it away without a second thought. Boromir sat upright and glared at the thief in inebriated rage. 

"Aragorn," he slurred. "You have a knack for robbing Gondor of what is not rightfully yours!"

Boromir clumsily fumbled for his sword, but was kneed in the forehead and sent sprawling, unconscious to the far end of the room. Aragorn's look of apprehension melted into that of hesitant regret. It would be the same expression he would wear in less than an hour, when he would be forced to return the Light of the Evenstar to his beloved. He set the horn down and knelt before the fallen noble.

"Be at peace," he whispered, holding Boromir's face in his hands, "Son of Gondor."

He bowed low where he knelt and kissed the other man above the eyes in a powerfully compelling gesture of loyalty between the warriors.

"Yer a bit of a homo, ain't ye, Strider?" whooped Merry, killing the mood for the umpteenth time that night.

Aragorn grit his teeth at the insensitivity of the stoned Hobbits and nearly crushed Boromir's skull in his hands from frustration.

"Fair go, Merry!" said Pippin in protest, "Strider ain't no fruit. Don't ye be rememberin'? He's been with that Elvish lass since dusk, so says I!"

"Oh, yeah!" giggled the other, "Dude! That chick's a _milf!_"

The two began chanting and laughing in unison.

"_Milf………milf………milf………"_

_ _

Aragorn calmly rose to his feet, crouched before the two and clonked their heads together, the sharp coconut-like sound of the collision satisfying him in ways previously unimaginable. Both fell away from the other and onto the cold marble. Merry fell instantly into unconsciousness while Pippin merely bordered it.

"Merry………," he whispered, his eyes rolling back into his head, "………the tree is talking!"

~(*)~

Legolas watched from the rooftops, feeling a little guilty that his stunt to ruin Aragorn's evening had ended up waking all of Rivendell (and Lorien, and Edoras). He dropped from his perch and confronted the Ranger on a balcony, not long after the silence had fallen upon the valley once more. He nodded politely as he passed the man, who rested against a limestone column with his hands folded over his stomach, gazing unhappily at the ridge from whence the sun would soon rise behind.

"The red sun rises," noted the Elf, curiously. "Blood has been spilt this night."

"Yes," sighed Aragorn, "Boromir cut his finger on the Shards of Narsil."

"I suppose that explains it."

Aragorn blinked, his eyes re-adjusting to an opening in the main chamber, where Lord Elrond stood, nodding gravely. 

_"I will not leave my daughter here to die………die………die………_"

The exchange of words between himself and the healer less than a half hour ago still rang fresh in the man's mind and he sighed once more. Irrespective of his gentle nature, Legolas fought a smirk at his comrade's misery, and retreated into the shadows of the columns, vines and ceilings. 

~(*)~

Frodo had barely gotten a wink of sleep since the horn incident when his gardener and trusted comrade Sam sprinted excitedly into his room and shook him where he lay.

"M'wah………?" he groaned tiredly, rolling around to face his podgy pal. 

"On your feet, Mister Frodo!" whispered Sam, gleefully. "Braise my conies and call me a Hardbottle, we've been promised a bona fide Elvish breakfast, we 'ave!"

He darted back outside, and Frodo heard him talking with an Elf.

"What's on the menu, then, Mister Elf?" he heard Sam enquire.

There was a pause.

"Lembas bread?" he heard Sam say, a little disappointed. "Uh, anything else?"

Another pause.

"Aha. _More _Lembas bread. Well, I'm a mite pissed off, I am."

Sam marched back into Frodo's bedchamber, annoyed. Huffing, he sat on the chair beside the bed and folded his arms.

"Lousy disenchanting Elves," he murmured under his breath. "Sorry about that, Mister Frodo, y'can go back to sleep now."

"Well, _bloody hell_, Sam!" yelled Frodo, angrily. "The sun's already in the sky, chances are we'll be leaving Rivendell any moment, but _thanks _for apologising."

Sam looked down, a look of profound hurt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sam," sighed Frodo, casting his sheets off of his body. "I don't know why I said that."

"I do," replied Sam, coldly. "It's 'cause I'm fat, isn't it? _Isn't it? _I can see it in yer eyes, ye think I'm a lumbering lard arse!"

"Oh, Sam," smiled Frodo, warmly. 

He rose from the bed and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders, looking into his eyes with sympathy and trust.

"That's a half-truth," he laughed sincerely.

"Pack your things, lovebirds," said Aragorn, approaching them before Sam could say anything else. "Our journey to Mordor begins on this morning."

~(*)~

**_The Beginning._**

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***(Author's Notes**: Thank you to the few reviewers who have showered their praise on this brief work. It's very difficult to attain recognition when, in the course of a short nine hours, one Fiction moves from the first page to the fourth. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, you know what happens from here, I'm sure! ^_^ **)***

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